


You know you do that out loud

by fandomnumbergenerator



Series: Assorted femslash [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/F, Female John Watson, Female Sherlock Holmes, Female Sherlock Holmes/Female John Watson, Fisting, Gender or Sex Swap, PWP, Rule 63, john has terrible taste even when she's a girl, she's just lucky that way, sherlock dresses like a sexy alien, sherlock is always the one getting it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 13:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2653913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomnumbergenerator/pseuds/fandomnumbergenerator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silly cis-swapped fem-slash.<br/>With the briefest allusions to plot, just to get them all dressed up and full of post-case adrenaline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You know you do that out loud

"What in fuck's name are you wearing, Sherlock?"

"McQueen." Her answer muffled as she rummaged through the closet.

"I don't even know what that means. But, seriously, why are you dressed like a slut from outer space?"

"For a case, Jon.  Have you see my Louboutins?"

"The ones with the red soles?  I put them on the top shelf after the last time I almost broke my fucking neck tripping over them. What case?"

"Russian money laundering.  There's a party at the Savoy, in the suspect's suite.  I need to get into his computer."

"Fuck no.  You are not going to some kleptocrat's bedroom dressed like that."

"That's why you're coming with me."

"And what exactly am I supposed to wear, Cinder-fucking-rella.  I'll look like a fucking she-hobbit next to you, especially in those heels."

"I got you a uniform from the company doing security.  And bring your gun."

"Fuck."

*****

Like most of Sherlock's plans, it almost worked.  Sherlock got into Vladimir Ivankov's study, and broke his password, even though everything was in Cyrillic.  But one of Ivankov's girlfriends came in looking for "Vova" and started screaming at Sherlock in rapid fire Russian.  And Jon ended up pushing the woman out of the room, breaking a security guard's nose with the butt of her gun, and barricading the door until Sherlock could finish downloading the files.

It turned out the Royal Suite had a maid's entrance, left over from the days of coal fires, and Sherlock pulled off her heels and they ran through a series of dark narrow hallways before meeting back up with the modernized part of the hotel.  Jon tried to look like she had everything under control, just another coked out celebutante gone feral, and nobody stopped them.

Sherlock put her shoes back on, wiped a finger under each eye to fix her eyeliner and strode confidently past the doorman and into the cab at the head of the queue.

Safely in the cab, Sherlock looked at Jon with a huge grin.  "We should do that every night!"

Jon started out stern, but by the time she got to the end of "No fucking way!" she was almost hiccuping trying to suppress the giggles, leaning against Sherlock, just trying to catch her breath. Sherlock huffed a final laugh and wrapped her arm around Jon. Tipped her head down and whispered in Jon's ear, "Mmmm.  You smell good. Blood and sweat and gun oil."

Jon was suddenly very aware of how close they were.  Sherlock wasn't really great about personal space and Jon didn't really care, but now she was barely dressed, curled around Jon, and actually smelling her.  It went pretty far beyond personal space. Jon made a noncommittal hmm and sat frozen pondering the black box that was Sherlock's head.

*****

Back at home, Sherlock got out of the cab gracefully, as though she was not actually the world's largest slow loris, and left Jon to pay the fare.

Inside the flat, Jon set the gun on the table and unzipped the security guard jacket to take off the holster.  She needed to clean the gun, but first she needed to catch her breath, maybe have a beer. "So, uh, do you spend a lot of time smelling me?" Jon wasn't sure where she was going with this, but someone needed to say something, and apparently it wasn't going to be Sherlock.

"Yes."

"Excuse me?"

"Yes.  I spend a lot of time smelling you.  I like how your hair smells."

Jon knew at some level it was her job to put an end to this.  What if Sherlock thought that passed for normal social interactions and got herself slapped? arrested? molested on the tube? "That's really not on, Sherlock, smelling people's hair ..." Before Jon could finish, Sherlock, who suddenly seemed to be about 7 feet tall, had her boxed in against the door, leaning down to smell her scalp, her ear, her neck. And then she made a soft rumbling sigh, and it hit Jon that Sherlock maybe knew more about the etiquette of hair-smelling than she had given her credit for.  Because Sherlock's mouth were pressed against her neck, nipping and nuzzling and licking, and Jon's skin was prickling with a hot red flush.  And when she reached out to steady herself, she was grabbing Sherlock's waist at its narrowest point, and rubbing her thumb along the weird boning of the dress, trying to feel something of Sherlock's body underneath.  Sherlock kicked off her heels and dropped to her knees in front of Jon, tugging at the stiff button of the Carhartts.  Pulling pants and underwear down Jon's hips and trying to pull them over one of Jon's bulky boots.  Which of course didn't work and required a lot of unlacing and tugging to finally get Jon's leg free. Sherlock pushed Jon's legs apart, and Jon propped one leg on a chair to brace herself.  Sherlock held herself still, just looking at Jon.  First at her cunt and then up through the tangle of her black hair, up at Jon's face.  Then she leaned in and took a long slow lick, from labia to clit.  She splayed her hand against the thigh of Jon's propped up leg, widening the stretch and giving herself better access to lick and suck.  Sherlock's licks started out light and testing, and for a moment Jon had the composure to think that this might not be the best idea. Maybe this was the sort of thing you should talk about first, particularly if you couldn't even use alcohol as an excuse.

But then Sherlock had apparently solved whatever puzzles Jon's cunt had presented, and her tongue went from teasing to firm and steady, and Jon could feel the flush spreading over her skin, and a buzzing in her nerves, her abs tight as she pushed back against Sherlock. "Oh fuck." Jon's legs started to shake and it seemed like the only thing holding her up was Sherlock's hands, and her panting breaths turned louder and higher pitched, tipping into frank moans as Sherlock kept pushing her towards orgasm. And then she knew she was there and relaxed into it, let it wash over her in hard waves.

Jon reached for Sherlock, dragged her up into a sloppy kiss, tasting like lipstick and pussy. She reached for Sherlock's waist and ended up with her hand on her thigh when the dresses bustle folded in on itself.  Jon took Sherlock's low hnng as a sign of encouragement, and slid her hand up Sherlock's thigh until she had her thumb hooked around her gracilis and brushing the edge of her underwear.  Sherlock shifted her leg to give Jon better access, and Jon rubbed her thumb lightly, feeling the heat through the damp satin.  Sherlock opened her hips wider and Jon pushed her thumb under the fabric so she could make little circles against her perineum.  But Sherlock squirmed impatiently, wriggling until Jon's thumb pushed into her vagina.

So Jon pulled Sherlock's underwear down far enough to use both hands.  One thumb pushing through the dark damp curls to get to Sherlock's clit and the other hand sliding two fingers into Sherlock's cunt.  Sherlock made little mewling noises and thrust back against Jon's hand, grinding herself against Jon's knuckles

"What do you need?" Jon asked softly.

Sherlock opened her eyes and stared at her and just said, "More."  Her imperious tone gone hoarse.

Jon pulled her hands away and Sherlock looked at her, half annoyed, half nervous, until Jon said, "I'm gonna need actual lube. Upstairs."

Jon was still clumsy and sex-drunk and had to pull her pants back on to try to sort out the tangled mess of pants and socks and boots without falling on her ass.  And she caught Sherlock looking at her with a kind of hungry admiration that made her think that maybe there was a reason Sherlock had picked this particular disguise.

Jon pointed Sherlock up the stairs and followed her into the bedroom.  She pointed at her dress. "Get this thing off."

"It's a dress, Jon."

"No, I wear dresses." Sherlock opened her mouth with a look that spoke volumes about exactly what she thought of Jon's dresses, but Jon continued  "That is piece of an alien exoskeleton.  That does not appear to have a fucking zipper."

Sherlock undid a series of latches and the dress came apart, leaving her in nothing but black satin underwear. Which she unceremoniously shucked off before scooting back onto Jon's bed. Jon followed her onto the bed, pushing her back onto the pillows and and nudging her knees apart with her own.

Sherlock propped herself up on her elbows and watched Jon intently. "The lube's in your drawer."

"Yes." Jon snorted. "I know.  I put it there.  Just shut up a second while I find it."

Jon ignored Sherlock's glare and took her time slathering her hand in lube, then squeezed more lube right onto Sherlock's clit, letting the liquid drip down her labia and onto the blanket. Which set Sherlock back to wriggling, annoyed by the sudden cold but desperate for any sensation.  John put both her hands back between Sherlock's legs -- the thumb lightly brushing Sherlock's clit as she went from two fingers to three to four. Sherlock rolled back onto her shoulders, planted her feet on the duvet and pushed back against Jon's hands

Jon folded and angled her hand, like squeezing past the mouth of a jar.  Sherlock was making formless animal moans, straining to get past the widest part of Jon's hand. Then Jon was curling her fingers into a fist, her hand trapped.  She dripped more lube on her wrist and set up a slow rocking rhythm, hoping to get Sherlock to let her set the pace. Jon twisted her hand slowly, rubbed more firmly with her other thumb, feeling the hidden tissue of Sherlock's clit trapped between her two hands.  Sherlock was crying like a hurt animal, but if Jon stopped moving, Sherlock tried to take over.  And then Jon could feel Sherlock's muscles tightening, grabbing her wrist like vice, and then Sherlock was sobbing, panting, laughing as the muscles pulsed even tighter.  Jon pulled her hand out carefully, and curled herself up in the crook of Sherlock's arm.

Sherlock, tears streaming down her face, still trying to catch her breath, blurted out, "Fantastic." ****

And Jon answered in her best posh accent, "D’you know you do that out loud?" and they dissolved into giggles.

**Author's Note:**

> Visit me on [tumblr](http://buffer-overrun.tumblr.com/post/109784507536/you-know-you-do-that-out-loud-1745-words-by)


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